We Shall Not Sleep

by Anne Perry

  Culshaw had looked confused. “Are you saying it’s the same, Chaplain?”

  Joseph had sighed. “No,” he said wearily. He was honest enough to admit that whatever reason or justice told him, it was not. His own reaction to Lizzie being raped forced him to acknowledge that reason had very little to do with the deepest passions, the intimacy of violation. “No, it’s not the same, Culshaw. If a man is betrayed by a woman he loved, he doesn’t forget it, and he doesn’t heal easily. And if a woman is raped by a man, she doesn’t forget that, either, or heal. Neither does any man who loved her. Have you considered that?”

  Culshaw’s face was very pale, the lines of exhaustion deep in his skin. “I never saw it like that.”

  “How did you see it?” Joseph had asked him.

  Culshaw’s eyes were wide. “He didn’t do that!” he breathed out. “I swear! Jesus, do you think I’d have covered for him if he had? He skewered that German officer’s foot, and he’d have beaten the hell out of any of the other prisoners, if we’d let him, but he never touched Sarah Price. You have to believe me!”

  “I don’t have to,” Joseph told him, disgust filling his mind at the senseless violence toward men already beaten by violence and shame.

  “But it’s the truth!” Culshaw protested desperately.

  “Yes,” Joseph conceded. “I daresay it is.”

  Judith was thinking of the same things, but she at least faced the practical questions she had been wishing she could avoid. Material proof would have been so much easier, less viciously painful, but perhaps in the end it was always going to have come to this. She could not expect Joseph to do it, or Matthew, for that matter.

  Now it could wait no longer. She told Wil she would be gone for a while but gave him no other explanation.

  She found Lizzie helping Allie Robinson. They were preparing some of the more seriously wounded for evacuation. There was an almost euphoric sense of release now that the station was open again at least in part; and men could leave. It was as if a long paralysis were ended.

  “Lizzie, I need to speak to you,” she said quietly. “Sorry, but it’s urgent.”

  Allie looked at her sharply. “When this is finished, Miss Reavley,” she said with a certain coolness. There was a warning in her eyes and her manner. Judith was overstepping her authority.

  “It’s urgent,” Judith repeated. “I’m sorry, but there’s no time to wait.”

  Allie stiffened. “If you have wounded, Miss Reavley, then you need either an orderly to help you or a doctor. You do not need Mrs. Blaine, who is already occupied here.”

  Judith’s emotions were raw with loathing of what she had to do. She felt guilty because of the pain she knew she was going to cause, and afraid Lizzie would hate her for it. Allie was a nuisance she had not foreseen, and the irritation of it scraped her raw, but if she lost her temper it would only make it all the more difficult, especially for Lizzie.

  “I don’t have wounded,” she replied as civilly as she could, but her voice had an edge to it and she could hear it herself.

  “I thought not.” Allie smiled bleakly. “Then you will have to wait.”

  Judith took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It can’t wait, Allie. It’s important.”

  Allie’s eyebrows rose. “To whom, Miss Reavley? To you?” The use of her name was a rebuke, and her face had no warmth in it, no possibility of yielding.

  “It’s not your concern, Miss Robinson, but if you force the issue, then it is important to Major Onslow of the military police. It is a matter of information that obviously I cannot discuss.” It was no more than half a lie.

  Anger flared in Allie’s eyes. “Then why did you not say so in the first place?” she asked angrily. “Just because you drive an ambulance around like a man does not give you the right to come in here giving orders. You forget yourself. You are going to find it extremely difficult after the war when you’re not needed anymore. You would be wise to learn how to behave like a woman again. You’re in danger of becoming a complete misfit, unwanted by men and an embarrassment to women.”

  Judith was stunned. The fury in Allie’s manner had taken her completely by surprise. Was it her own fear speaking? Surely not. There were going to be years of skilled nursing ahead; peace would not affect that.

  “Well, if it’s so urgent, get on with it!” Allie snapped. “Experience your authority. You won’t have it much longer.”

  Judith bit back her retaliation and turned to Lizzie. They went out together, Lizzie looking anxious and unhappy.

  As soon as they were beyond the Evacuation tent and in the open, the day bright and cold with frost in the wind, Lizzie spoke again.

  “Does Major Onslow really want to see me?”

  “No,” Judith said quickly. “I do. But in a way it’s half true. Not here, however; your bunker or mine.”

  “Mine’s closer. What is it?”

  “I’m sorry,” Judith said fiercely. “I really am. I wouldn’t do this if there were any other way.”

  Lizzie walked in silence. It was a bad beginning. She was already afraid. They reached the bunker and went down the steps inside. It smelled of damp earth and enclosed space. The wooden slats on the floor were rotting but still better than the bare mud.

  “What is it?” Lizzie demanded again. “Do they know something?” She did not sit down but remained standing, facing Judith in the gloom.

  Judith could understand very easily how Lizzie might rather not know who had raped her, whose child she was carrying. Anonymity kept it one step further away. She wished with passion that she could leave it that way, or at least leave the choice to Lizzie.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I am! They don’t know, and all we can work out is that it had to be Cavan, Wil Sloan, or Benbow.”

  “How?” Lizzie’s face was not clear in the faint light inside the bunker, but even in the shadows her disbelief was obvious. “It could have been anyone! I have no idea.”

  “It couldn’t have been just anyone who killed Sarah. Everybody else is ruled out.” It was brutal, but Lizzie had to know it was true. She had said so herself, to Onslow.

  Lizzie sat down slowly on the bunk. Now she seemed unbearably tired, as if the strength inside her was used up. “I don’t know,” she said again. “I’d hate to think it was Cavan, or Wil Sloan, but I can’t say it was Benbow because I don’t know! It might not have been.” She stared at Judith. “When it comes to it, even the people we like can have terrible secrets that we have no idea of. I’m not going to say it was Benbow just because Cavan and Wil are your friends. I’m sorry.”

  Judith was momentarily stunned. It was the last thing she had considered, at least consciously, but she could see how easily Lizzie must have thought of it.

  “I don’t want you to! That isn’t what I meant at all. Of course I don’t want it to be them, but if it is, then we must face it.”

  “What do you want?”

  Now was the moment. “Onslow didn’t ask you to go through it for him in detail, did he?”

  “No!”

  “Joseph wouldn’t, or Matthew.” That was really a statement rather than a question. She knew the answer.

  “No.” Lizzie’s voice was quiet, but there was dread in it.

  “Somebody must,” Judith said as gently as she could. “You might remember something…”

  “I don’t! I don’t know who it was! Just a man…a soldier. Judith, if I knew, don’t you think I’d tell you?”

  “Yes, of course you would. Just tell me anything. What time was it, roughly?”

  “Sometime between midnight and three. I can’t remember now. We were busy.”

  “What were you doing before it happened? Where were you?”

  Lizzie hesitated. “In the Resuscitation tent. We’d just finished a bad one. We lost him.”

  “Who did the operation?”

  “Cavan, Bream, Moira Jessop.”

  Judith felt cold. “Then what?”

  “We had the body t
aken away. Joseph wasn’t here, he was up in the lines. I don’t know where everybody went. I felt dreadful. We’d fought really hard. Thought he was going to make it. He was…about seventeen.” Her voice caught, and she struggled to keep control of it. “I went outside. I wanted to be alone and not have to look at anybody else’s face. I…” She stopped, then started again. “I was standing outside in the dark, somewhere beyond the Evacuation tent, when I realized there was someone near me.”

  “How?” Judith interrupted. “How did you realize it? Did you see him?”

  “No.” Lizzie thought for a moment. “I heard his feet squelch in the mud. It wasn’t so bad then, but it had rained earlier and there were a few places that never seem to get dry.”

  “Did he speak? Did you hear him breathing?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Does it matter now? I can’t tell one person’s breathing from another.” Lizzie’s voice was strained, tight in her throat as memory brought it back to her.

  “It might,” Judith insisted. “Then what? Were you frightened?”

  “No, of course I wasn’t! I didn’t think there was anything to be frightened of. Then the next thing I knew he’d caught hold of me from behind, and…and twisted me around to face him. But before you ask, we were in shadow and it was cloudy. I didn’t see his face at all. That’s the truth.”

  “How tall was he?” Judith asked.

  “What?”

  “How tall was he?” she repeated. “A lot taller than you? A little?”

  Lizzie shut her eyes. “It doesn’t matter, Judith. Cavan, Wil, and Benbow are all much the same height, within an inch or two. They’re all half a foot taller than I am.”

  “I know. But he kissed you?”

  “Yes! I told you!” Lizzie’s voice was ragged, her control slipping.

  Judith felt brutal, but she did not stop. “Where were his hands?”

  “Hands? I don’t know! I…”

  “Yes? What? Why didn’t you twist away?”

  “He held my face—”

  “Smell,” Judith said instantly. “What did his hands smell of?”

  Lizzie froze, her eyes wide.

  “Ether? Disinfectant? Blood?” Judith demanded.

  “No…no, smoke, like cigarettes,” Lizzie replied. “And oil?”

  “What kind of oil?” Judith’s voice was shaking now, too. “Think! Was it petrol, metallic oil, butter? What? Bring it back, exactly?”

  “It wasn’t Cavan, was it,” Lizzie said with certainty. “He couldn’t have gotten rid of the ether and disinfectant. Engine oil from Wil, gun oil from Benbow.”

  “Yes. What was it?”

  The silence was intense, as if the clay walls behind the wood shoring them up was somehow absorbing the sound, even their breath.

  “I’m not sure. Bitter,” Lizzie said at last. “I couldn’t smell petrol, just tobacco, cigarette smoke, and a tiny bit of metallic oil.

  “No…he…” Lizzie stopped with a gasp.

  “What? What?”

  “I heard him put it down…,” Lizzie said with slow, gasping amazement. “I remember…I heard him put it down. It unbalanced and fell against the duckboards. It was Benbow! It had to have been! Wil and Cavan don’t have guns. And his tunic was rough, khaki. Cavan was still in his white coat.” She swallowed convulsively. “Why didn’t I know that before?”

  “You didn’t want to remember it. Who would?” Judith said simply. “I’m sorry…”

  Lizzie shook her head. “No. Don’t be. What should I do? I suppose I have to tell Onslow?” Her fear was palpable in the closed room, even in the semi-darkness.

  “Not yet,” Judith replied. “I’ll tell Joseph first.” She heard Lizzie’s sharp drawing in of breath, and understood. “He has to know sometime. Get it over. I’ll do it. At least you won’t be afraid of everyone now. But don’t be alone…promise?”

  Lizzie gave a very slight smile. “I promise.”

  “Come on then. Now! Come with me back to Allie. She’s a pretty good bitch at times, but at least you know where you stand with her.”

  “Benbow? Are you sure?” Matthew asked.

  Joseph repeated the essence of what Judith had told him. He tried to keep his emotion out of it, think of it as a string of facts, imprison his imagination so none of it was real.

  “Sounds pretty solid,” Matthew said gravely. “I’m glad it wasn’t Cavan or Wil Sloan. I’m sorry, Joe. Do you want to face him, or would you rather not?”

  “We’ll have to go to Onslow anyway,” Joseph pointed out. “I hit him. I should do that.”

  Matthew frowned. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Come on, if I don’t do that I’m going to fall long before the last fence.” Joseph made himself smile. He was the eldest. He was the one who loved Lizzie. It was his responsibility. “I’ll go now.”

  But it proved far harder than he had anticipated. Onslow accepted the evidence without argument, but when he had Benbow brought in it was a very different matter. He looked haggard, ashen-faced, and, standing feet away, Joseph could smell the fear in him.

  “I didn’t kill Sarah Price!” he protested, struggling uselessly against the manacles that held his hands tight behind his back. “I didn’t, I swear to God! I never touched her!” He wrenched himself around to face Joseph. “Chaplain, I swear! All right, Moira Jessop played me around rotten, an’ I took her, all right, an’ I weren’t none too gentle, fought like a wildcat, but that was a month ago, more. I never touched Sarah Price. Jesus! What do you think I am? She was sliced to bits!”

  “You raped Moira Jessop?” Onslow said incredulously. He stared from Benbow to Joseph, and back again.

  “Where?” Joseph demanded. “Exactly where? What time?”

  Benbow looked stunned. “Out…outside the Evacuation tent,” he stammered.

  “Were you carrying a rifle?” Joseph asked.

  “I never hurt her!” Benbow shouted. “I swear…”

  “Did you drop it?”

  “Yes! I don’t know. I must ’ave. Why? I never used any kind of knife on ’er. I never even hit ’er. I just…” His face was gray, his eyes wild. “I didn’t! She led me on, played…Oh God!”

  “Did she see your face?” Onslow asked.

  “She couldn’t ’ave. It was dark,” Benbow responded. “Could hardly see where you were going.”

  Onslow looked across at Joseph.

  “How do you know it was Moira Jessop?” Joseph asked Benbow.

  “I…I followed ’er out of the…” Suddenly Benbow surged and gulped air.

  “It wasn’t,” Joseph said quietly. “You forced yourself on another woman, one who had never given you the slightest indication that she had any interest in you at all.”

  Benbow stood silently, blinking as if blinded.

  “And Sarah Price?” Onslow asked again.

  “I never touched ’er. I swear to God,” Benbow replied hoarsely.

  Joseph nodded slowly. There was no proof. He was not sure whether to believe it or not, but it was possible that the man who had raped Lizzie and the man who had murdered Sarah were not the same person.

  Onslow looked profoundly unhappy. “That will be for a jury to decide,” he said grimly. “Take him away.”

  After Benbow had been removed, Onslow faced Joseph. “I’m sorry,” he emphasized. “Perhaps Mrs. Blaine will find some kind of relief, however small, in the knowledge that she was not the intended victim. I hope so.”

  “Do you think it is possible that he didn’t kill Sarah Price?” Joseph said slowly, trying to work his way through the maze of facts, contradiction, and anger.

  “Frankly, I have no idea,” Onslow admitted. “If I had to stake anything on it, I think it is possible, yes.”

  “It has to be Benbow!” Matthew said savagely, staring at Joseph in disbelief. “You can’t think we have two rapists loose here?”

  “I don’t know what I think,” Joseph admitted. They were walking slowly along the rotting duckboards of the old supply trenc
h, heading back to the bunkers.

  “Did Benbow have blood on him?” Matthew asked. “Eames must have noticed.”

  Joseph bit his lip. “He was pretty wet and he had mud on his boots up to his knees. He says he slipped in one of the shallow craters. That could be true.”

  Matthew swore. “And I suppose Cavan was covered in blood from operating, and Wil Sloan from carrying in the wounded?”

  “They would be,” Joseph agreed.

  They discussed it further, achieving nothing. Finally Joseph left and walked on past the bunkers toward the Admissions tent. The wind from the east was rising, and in the gathering dusk the clear sky promised a frost. The colors were fragile and muted, even over the ruined landscape to the west, where the dying light was a faint lilac-pink after the sun slipped below the horizon. The gunfire was too far away to hear except as a distant rumble.

  They had to solve this obscene crime. It could not be allowed to slip into oblivion because the war was ending and bit by bit the weary, soul-bruised men would be allowed to go home to whatever love and passion and change awaited them.

  Then a thought occurred to Joseph, so ridiculous he dismissed it. It must be Benbow, despite the lack of blood on him. Apart from anything else, he was carrying a rifle and bayonet. Every man on guard duty did. Neither Cavan nor Wil Sloan had such a weapon. Cavan could have a scalpel. But he still refused to believe that Cavan could be guilty. No evidence short of an eyewitness would make him accept that the man he knew had descended from the selfless courage of a year ago, unnoticed by anyone, into the pit of madness where he would rape a woman he knew and had worked beside, even cared for, not with his body but with the raw blade of a bayonet!

  It would be like walking side by side with a friend and turning to discover a creature beside you who had the devil’s soul looking out of his eyes.

  But Cavan could not account for his time. Allie Robinson had lied to protect him, and he had allowed her to until Judith had caught him in it. He had said he had been in the Evacuation tent, but he hadn’t.

  Joseph was sick with misery, as if the evidence were closing in around him like an enemy in the dark. Any hour now it might strike the blow that could not be defended against, the proof that could not be denied. There was no point in asking Cavan himself, and he could keep Allie Robinson until last when she could no longer lie.